


People are Boring (But You're Something Else)

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends AU, F/M, FSKissPrompt, Fluff, Kisses, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz and Jemma fluff the fluffies in the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff.</p>
<p>If you can find a plot hiding inside all the fluff, maybe you can write this summary for me.  </p>
<p>AKA Lalalli couldn't choose one Fitzsimmons Kiss Prompt so she decided to see how many she could fit into one Childhood Friends AU.  Extra kisses free of charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken by Chateau Lobby #4 by Father John Misty
> 
> Also, I have no idea whether I'm on the mysterious spreadsheet or not. I don't know how to access it. But I did e-mail the powers that be, so hopefully they don't mind that I'm crashing the fic party.

Jemma is seven when Fitz first walks into her fifth grade classroom. Like her, he’s three years younger and six inches shorter than everyone else. Like her, he’s moved to the States from the U.K. and speaks with a British accent (and though his is decidedly more Scottish, it still reminds her of home). Like her, he holds himself awkwardly, holding his limbs as closely to himself as possible, tiptoeing around everyone to ensure he doesn’t draw attention to himself. Like her, he’s too smart for his own good.

She follows him around like a duckling who has been imprinted by his face. He doesn’t encourage her, but he doesn’t exactly discourage her either. Even so, Fitz mostly prefers to play football with his cousin, Lance, who is the same age as them but still in the second grade.

Jemma is okay with this. She just sits on the sidelines and digs through the dirt. She loves digging through the dirt on the field. It’s soft and damp and smells like green, even though it’s brown. It’s not like the dirt at the park by her house, which is coarse and dry and polluted with bits of twigs and jagged shards of rock. Jemma smiles widely as a new friend burrows out of the dirt to greet her. She scoops it up in her hands and scrambles to the end of the field.

“Fitz!” she shouts, running up to him with one cupped palm covered by the other. “Look!”

Fitz pauses and walks to the sidelines. “What is it?”

Jemma opens her palms and thrusts her hands forward to show him. “It’s a roly-poly!”

Fitz grimaces and recoils. “That’s gross!”

Jemma frowns. “It’s not!”

“Oi!” Hunter shouts from the goal post. “What’s the holdup?!”

Fitz looks at Jemma apologetically. “Gotta go.” He takes off running, dribbling the ball between his feet.

But at school and in class, Fitz sticks to Jemma like she’s his only friend - mostly because she is. This is especially true when they turn eight and move on to middle school, while Hunter stays behind to start third grade. Fitz starts to cling to Jemma as fiercely as she clings to him because everyone else around them is changing rapidly. The boys’ voices deepen, the girls grow little bumps on their chests, everyone is starting to grow extra hair all over, and they’re all getting a bit gossipy and territorial and it’s all a bit frightening for them.

So instead of eating lunch in the cafeteria, they sneak their sandwiches into the back corner of the library and study or play cards or look through the comic books that Fitz brings from home even though he’s not supposed to.

“Okay,” Jemma whispers, signalling that she’s done reading the page.

“You’re not taking enough time to appreciate the illustrations,” Fitz complains. He turns the page anyways.

Jemma leans a little closer to him so that their temples are practically touching. “If you could have any superpower in the world, what would you want to have?” she asks.

“Super strength,” Fitz answers immediately. He’s always hated being the skinniest and the smallest and the weakest.

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “How boring.”

Fitz chooses to ignore her assessment. “What would you want?”

Jemma mulls it over for a few moments. “Teleportation.”

“Yeah?” Fitz asks, surprised. He thought her superpower of choice would have been to be the most knowledgeable of know-it-alls. “Why?”

“I could visit my grandparents in Sheffield whenever I want,” Jemma tells him. “And I could take you to visit your dad in Scotland.”

“I doubt my dad wants to see me,” Fitz mutters. Jemma ignores him.

“And then we could go all over the world!” Jemma exclaims. She wraps her fingers around Fitz’s forearm. “We could see everything there is to see! The pyramids, the Great Wall - we could go to the panda breeding facility in Chengdu and play with all the baby pandas!”

“What about the monkeys?” Fitz reminds her.

“Of course!” Jemma assures him, quite magnanimously. “We will visit every single monkey.”

Fitz likes Jemma best when her enthusiasm for the world bubbles over - when her eyes light up with curiosity and her nose crinkles in excitement and her grin stretches across her entire face. It’s contagious and she makes him a bit more excited to be alive.

“You’re my best friend,” Fitz tells her without thinking.

Jemma’s smile stretches even wider. Moving quickly, like a hummingbird flapping its wings, she leans forward and presses a light kiss to Fitz’s cheek.

Fitz grimaces. “Gross!” he protests, wiping the kiss off with the palm of his hand. “What’d you do that for?!”

Jemma looks at him as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re my best friend, too.”


	2. Comforting Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Comforting kisses pressed to tear-stained cheeks between whispered words of reassurance and concern

Jemma and Fitz are ten when they win first place at their middle school science fair for creating a desalination treatment system for water. Jemma beams as she accepts the blue ribbon from the principal and immediately turns to throw her arms around Fitz’s neck. All the other eighth grade girls awww, while all the eighth grade boys snicker. Fitz tenses.

Jemma pulls away. “I’m sorry!” she blurts. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you!”

Fitz looks over her shoulder, his lips pressed into a tight line. “It’s not you - it’s...I didn’t know she was bringing him.”

Jemma turns and follows his gaze. Fitz’s mom walks towards them, hand-in-hand with a tall man with black hair and stern eyes. “Is that the boyfriend?” Jemma has spent a lot of time in the past ten months listening to Fitz complaining about him.

“No,” Fitz frowns. “Fiance.”

Jemma turns back to face him. “When did -”

“Last week.”

“And when are -”

“May.” Fitz turns to look at Jemma and takes her hand. “Will you come? To the wedding? I don’t think I could face it on my own.”

Jemma squeezes his hand. “Of course.”

The wedding takes place at the botanical garden and when Jemma arrives on her bicycle, Fitz thinks she fits right in among the flowers because her face is flushed pink like a rose and her dress is reminiscent of a peony, all poufs and ruffles. She stays by his side the whole time - through the ceremony, where he sits and scowls in the first row, through the reception, where he stands and scowls at the fringes of the party, and through the farewells, where he stands and scowls and tries not to cry as his mom and new stepfather drive away in a black limo.

Fitz insists on escorting Jemma home, even though she was able to arrive quite fine on her own. But Jemma senses that he needs her right now, so she agrees.

At first, they try to ride her bicycle together, with Jemma pedaling and Fitz balancing behind her, one foot on each side of her back wheel, his upper body leaning over her to hold on to the handlebars for stability. Then they try switching places, with Jemma sitting on the handlebars while Fitz pedals. They finally decide to have Fitz walk beside Jemma as she rides very slowly next to him. Even though it takes them longer to get home, Jemma suspects that Fitz isn’t in much of a hurry to get to Hunter’s house, where he’s staying while his mom is on her honeymoon.

When they reach Jemma’s house, Fitz wraps Jemma in a tight hug the moment she dismounts her bicycle. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “For coming.”

Jemma pats his back. “Of course I came. You asked me to.”

Fitz pulls away from her and even though he tries to smile, his face immediately crumples and he bursts into tears.

Jemma’s face crumples as well and she reaches forward to cup his face with her hands. “Oh, Fitz.” It’s what she always says when she’s aggravated, but this time, she just sounds sad. She wipes away his tears with her thumbs and presses a kiss to each eyelid. “You’re going to be okay,” she promises, kissing his cheeks as well. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And Fitz knows it’s true because Jemma Simmons is a genius and she can do anything she sets her mind to.


	3. Spin the Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons play Spin the Bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't one of the prompts. I decided to write it anyways.
> 
> #sorrynotsorry

Jemma and Fitz are the only high schoolers in the sea of seventh graders crowded into Hunter’s basement. Logically, they know everyone else in the room is also twelve, just like they are, but they still feel too old to be there, which is a first for them, considering they’re usually the youngest everywhere they go.

Fitz carves out a spot for himself next to the snack table, and Jemma stands by and watches in amusement as Fitz shoves handfuls of crisps and pretzels in his mouth as though he might never see food again.

“Didn’t you just eat before we got here?” Jemma reminds him.

“I’m a growing boy, Simmons.”

“Fitzsimmons!” Hunter calls from the other side of the room. “Come join us for this game!”

Much to their dismay, once they’re wedged into the circle of preteens, they discover that they’ve just joined in a game of Spin the Bottle. Hunter spins and lands on Jemma. Jemma wrinkles her nose and politely puckers as Hunter darts forward and quickly kisses the corner of her mouth, recoiling immediately after making contact. Fitz thinks that perhaps he ate too many crisps and pretzels after all.

Jemma reaches forward to spin the glass bottle and watches as it blurs into a solid circle of white and red before it slows and ticks to a stop in front of Fitz. They turn to look at each other, blushing furiously as the others shriek with laughter. Jemma turns up the corner of her lips into a slight smile because she knows this is just a silly game and it’s just for fun. But Fitz has this strange look in his eyes that somehow looks out of place on his youthful face; it’s as though the blue of his eyes have deepened from a clear and quiet brook to a vast and unpredictable ocean. To Jemma, it’s a look that is meant for a face much older than his.

They both move forward slowly, careful and hesitant, until their lips meet in a chaste and brief and gentle kiss. Fitz has the fleeting thought that her lips are somehow the softest part of her and they taste like her vanilla lip balm and now he knows why she reapplies it every hour because it makes his lips feel pleasantly tingly. 

They open their eyes at the same time, synchronized as always. Jemma blinks, and just like that, all other senses and sounds come rushing in again, and she can hear everyone hooting and hollering and urging Fitz to take his turn spinning the bottle.

The bottle lands on Emmeline. Jemma is caught between wanting to look away and wanting to scrutinize his every movement to see if there’s any difference between the way he kisses her and the way he kisses Emmeline.

She looks away.


	4. Forehead Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: a single loving kiss left on the other’s forehead when they fall asleep snuggled close together.

Fitz is thirteen when sneaking into Jemma’s bedroom at night starts to become a regular occurrence.

"Again?" Jemma asks sympathetically as Fitz clumsily climbs through her window.

Fitz hops on one foot as he drags his other leg in. "Is it really that surprising?"

Jemma grabs his arm to help him keep his balance. "I thought you were going to ignore him from now on?"

Fitz flops onto her bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark constellations on her ceiling with his arms folded under his head. "Yeah, turns out that didn't work either."

Jemma lies down next to him on her side, facing him. "What happened?"

"The usual. He was belligerently drunk - determined to pick a fight. I tried to ignore him - went to my room. Then he took my door off its hinges and said I wasn't allowed to have one anymore if I was just going to use it to shut everyone out."

"What he'd do with it?"

"Threw it outside."

Jemma places a hand on his elbow. "It's just another year and a half. Then we're leaving for uni and you won't have to put up with him anymore."

Fitz rolls over to face her. "It just seems really far off."

Jemma nudges his knee with hers. "Think about it. We've been best friends for six years. It doesn't seem like it's been that long since we met, does it? The time we have left here is just a fraction of that."

Fitz's forehead crinkles. "Only six years? It seems like I've known you forever." He yawns. "I'm sleepy."

Jemma smiles at him fondly. "Go ahead and sleep. Things will seem brighter in the morning. They always do." She knows that it’s a cliche, but she figures it wouldn’t be a cliche if it weren’t at least a little bit true.

Fitz closes his eyes without responding. Soon, his breathing deepens to a slow and steady rhythm that tells Jemma he's drifted off. Jemma presses a soft kiss to his forehead and closes her eyes as well.


	5. Scattered Joyful Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: joyful kisses peppered across foreheads and cheeks between scattered giggles.

Jemma paces across her room. "Why didn't you tell me you were applying to Oxford?" 

"I didn't think I'd get in!" Fitz tells her. He perches on the edge of her bed and grabs a pillow, hugging it to his chest.

Jemma stops in her tracks and shoots him a withering look. "Don't give me that - of course you got in, you're a literal genius!"

Fitz shrugs half-heartedly. "What difference would it have made?"

Jemma raises her eyebrows, incredulous. "I would have applied too!"

Fitz furrows his brow. "But you want to go to Harvard - stay close to your mum and dad. And I can't stay. You know that." He’s worried he’ll snap if he has to spend more time than necessary with his stepfather.

Jemma shakes her head. "I want to go with you more than I want to go to Harvard!"

"But you shouldn't,” Fitz reminds her. “Your education - your dreams - are more important than me."

"I can get an education anywhere! There are dozens of great schools out there! I’d rather be close to you!" Jemma shouts, gesticulating wildly.

Fitz frowns. “Don’t you ever worry that we’re too dependent on each other?”

“No,” Jemma responds immediately. She pauses, considering the implication in his question. Her lower lip trembles. “Do you? Are you saying you don’t want to be close to me?”

“Of course not!” Fitz rushes to assure her. “I’ll always want to be close to you! But I don’t want either of us to compromise on what we want just because we’re too scared to be on our own.”

Jemma takes his hand. “Fitz, the reason you’re my best friend is because you make me better. We make each other better. Don’t you think that’s worth holding on to?”

Fitz does think it’s worth holding on to. And when he thinks about it - really thinks about it - he doesn’t think he can go through four years without Jemma. Which is why two weeks later, he tells Jemma that he sent in his acceptance letter to Harvard.

Jemma is so thrilled that she sandwiches his face between her hands and presses kisses to his cheeks, his temple, his forehead, his nose, his chin, laughing in relief. Fitz wrinkles his nose. “Too much!” he protests, though he's laughing too.

Jemma ignores him and throws her arms around his neck and digs her chin into his shoulder. “I’m so excited, Fitz. Uni is going to be brilliant.”


	6. Red Lipstick Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons go to their senior prom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cheek kisses that leave red lipstick stains.
> 
> This is my favorite chapter so far.

“Okay, now both of you turn towards the window, and Fitz, put your arms around Jemma,” Mrs. Simmons instructs.

Fitz is halfway through carrying out the first part of her instructions when he registers the second part. He looks at Jemma, his eyes wide, and lifts his arms up a bit.

“Ugh, Mum!” Jemma whines. “Just because we’re going to prom, doesn’t mean we have to do that cheesy pose!”

Mrs. Simmons juts out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Please? For me?”

Jemma looks at Fitz. Fitz just shrugs. “For your mum?”

“You can even put on your cheesiest smiles, and that way everyone knows you’re doing it _ironically_!” Mrs. Simmons suggests.

Jemma rolls her eyes and turns her back to Fitz. “Fine, Mum. Just for you.”>

Jemma feels the warmth of Fitz’s arms as they wrap around hers, his fingers lingering on her wrists, and they’ve been this close before, but somehow not being able to see his face makes her a bit nervous.

Mrs. Simmons grins as the camera clicks and flashes, capturing the image of Jemma, in her lacy navy blue dress with bouncy layers of tulle underneath the knee-length skirt, her loose curls, and bright red lips, face schooled into the sarcastic smile usually reserved for those who are obviously only pretending to understand what she’s talking about, in the arms of Fitz, in his black tux, navy blue bow tie and cummerbund, and the same bright and sincere smile he wears whenever he’s close enough to Jemma Simmons to get pulled in by her gravitational force.

When they arrive at the school gymnasium, they find it decorated within an inch of its life, glitter and fake roses covering all the tables, helium-filled, metallic-colored balloons and streamers obscuring the ceiling, and cardboard stars, spray-painted gold, hovering everywhere. The theme is supposed to be “A Night in Paris” (“How original,” Jemma had scoffed when they bought their tickets), but the only evidence of it seems to be the wobbly two-dimensional cardboard cutout of the Eiffel Tower leaning against the wall behind the snack table and the atrocious French accent the head of the prom committee seems determined to affect all night.

Fitz, quite predictably, hovers near the snack table all night, and Jemma, quite predictably, hovers near Fitz. Jemma can only assume that either the punchbowl is spiked or their older classmates engaged in some pre-prom partying because even though most of them have never said a word to her or Fitz during their high school career, their classmates spend all of prom weepily fawning over them.

“Jemma!” Angela throws her arms around Jemma in a crushing hug. “I can’t believe it’s almost over! I’m going to miss you so much!”

“Um...yeah,” Jemma agrees, gently pulling out of Angela’s grasp. “Right back at’cha!” Jemma lies enthusiastically, leaning back a bit and pointing at Angela with finger guns.

“Look,” Angela tells Jemma, placing her hands on her shoulder, “I am so sorry for spreading that rumor sophomore year that you were actually an adult midget working undercover at our school.”

Jemma’s eyes widen. “You said I...why would anyone be under…” Jemma closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I believe the preferred nomenclature is ‘little person’,” she manages weakly.

Angela turns her attentions to Fitz. “Fitz!” Angela presses her hands on either side of Fitz’s face, restricting his ability to chew the cocktail weenies he had just shoved into his mouth. Fitz looks at her the way a baby antelope looks at a quickly approaching lion. “You are SO cute!” she tells him. “And you are going to be a wonderful man someday. Don’t you ever forget that, okay?”

Fitz tries to nod but can’t move his head, seeing as Angela is still holding on tightly to his face, so he manages an “Okay,” accidentally sending bits of cocktail weenie spraying into Angela’s face.

Angela grimaces and pulls away, wiping the corner of her eye with one finger. “Alright,” she says, almost more to herself than to Fitz or Jemma. “Take care of yourself, Fitzsimmons.”

Jemma manages to drag Fitz to the dance floor for three dances - two fast, so Jemma has the opportunity to make her dress bounce and twirl around her as she jumps and spins, and one slow, so Jemma and Fitz have an excuse to essentially just hug each other and sway for four minutes - before the end of the night. They leave, hand-in-hand, an hour before everyone else so they can get home in time for Jemma’s 10:00 curfew.

After the loud music and flashing lights and warm stuffiness inside the gymnasium, the world outside seems especially peaceful and still. At first, the cool breeze outside is a welcome relief on Jemma’s overheated skin, but halfway home she has to let go of Fitz’s hand to wrap her arms around herself.

Fitz looks down at her, a little half-smile on his face. He shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around Jemma. Jemma looks up at him and smiles, threading her arms through the sleeves and grabbing his hand again.

They are both silent the entire walk home, the nostalgia of their classmates having seeped under their skin throughout the course of the night. Jemma can’t help but feel like even though she knows the end of high school won’t be the end of her friendship with Fitz, it still feels like the end of _something_. It almost seems like the last chance they have to walk home like this together, both quiet and lost in thought, but still linked together through the shared experience of feeling the light breeze on their skin, hearing the leaves rustling in the treetops above their heads, inhaling the scent of spring flowers as they walk past the gardens behind the white picket fences surrounding the small cottage-style houses.

Fitz smiles, and it’s the awareness that he’s smiling that makes him abruptly cognizant of his happiness. Fitz can’t help but feel like even though this is the perfect moment, he can’t quite fully immerse himself in it. He feels less like a participant and more like a spectator, like he’s stepped outside of himself and is trying desperately to slow down time so that he can memorize every detail like it's a still-life hanging in a museum.

“Here we are,” Fitz tells Jemma when they reach her house. It’s his first words since they left prom.

Jemma looks up at him, her wide eyes and smile as bright as the stars in the night sky. “Thank you for coming with me. I know this wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.”

Fitz shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah?”

Fitz smiles down at her. “Unlimited cheese puffs and cocktail weenies can make up for a lot.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Oh, Fitz.”

Fitz lightly kicks her with the side of his shoe. “Not that I need it when I’m in the company of Jemma Simmons.”

Jemma’s smile falters, and she opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by the insistent flickering of the porch light outside her house. Jemma lets out a weak laugh. “That’s my cue.” She steps in close to Fitz and gives him a kiss - a quick peck, really - just narrowly missing his lips. “See you tomorrow.”

Fitz walks in a daze the whole way to Hunter’s house, grinning the whole time. He almost doesn’t even mind when Hunter laughs uncontrollably at the sight of Fitz with a bright red lip print on the corner of his mouth.


	7. Come Back to Bed Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons visit their parents for the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Come back to bed kisses left on A’s neck and shoulder, unhurried and tender, with arms wrapped around A’s waist.

“What do you mean, you’re not going home for Christmas?” Jemma demands, incensed, pacing back and forth across Fitz’s dorm room, so familiar with its layout that she easily sidesteps the gadgets and clothes littering the floor without even looking. “There’s no excuse!”

Fitz flops backwards on his bed, his head hitting his pillow. “I don’t really want to spend two weeks under the same roof as Vincent, Jemma.”

“Then where are you going to spend two weeks?” Jemma demands. “Campus is closed for the holidays.”

Fitz shrugs. “Maybe I’ll go visit Hunter. Haven’t seen him since they moved to California.”

“Look, if it’s your stepfather that’s the problem, just stay with me!” Jemma suggests. “That way you can at least spend Christmas with your mum.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think my mum would very much care for me staying with you instead of her when she lives right around the corner.”

“I think she would much rather you be in the same area code as her for Christmas instead of all the way on the other side of the country!” Jemma points out.

Fitz groans and sits up, folding his knees up to his chest. “Fine. Roshambo?”

Jemma sits next to him on his bed and curls her legs beside her. “Roshambo,” she agrees.

Fitz chooses scissors. Jemma chooses rock. She grins and bumps his fingers lightly with her fist. “Aw, Fitz.” It’s amazing how Jemma can make even condescension sound affectionate. She springs to her feet and flings his closet open. “Time to pack!”

\-----------------------

“That’s ridiculous,” Jemma tells Mrs. Simmons. “Fitz always stays in my room!”

Fitz blushes. “Jem, it’s fine. I prefer the guest room.”

“Well I don’t see why they’re making a big deal out of changing things _now_!”

Mrs. Simmons exchanges a quick glance with Mr. Simmons. “It’s just that back then, you were children. And now, you’re...you know...college students.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but aren’t we still basically children?” Jemma tries to reason.

“We’re fifteen,” Fitz reminds her under his breath.

“You’re...teenagers,” Mr. Simmons says at the same time.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about protecting my virtue, is it? Because not only is that an outdated and, to be quite honest, sexist notion, but I don’t need you to protect me - Fitz would never try anything untoward! He’s my best friend!”

“It’s not Fitz I’m worried about being untoward,” Mr. Simmons mutters, only loud enough for Mrs. Simmons to hear. She bites back a laugh.

“What was that?” Jemma demands.

Fitz hikes his bag further up his shoulder. “I’ll go put my things in the guest room. Thanks for letting me stay here, Mr. and Mrs. Simmons.”

Mrs. Simmons gives him a fond smile. “You’re welcome, Leopold.”

Fitz turns to the stairs quickly before they can see his grimace.

Jemma bursts into the guest room about 30 seconds after Fitz set his bag down at the foot of his bed. “I am so sorry, Fitz.”

Fitz rubs the back of his neck. “Don’t apologize, Jemma. I mean, we probably are too old to be sharing a bed at this point.”

“We shared a bed just last week.” Jemma points out. She and Fitz have always been very affectionate with each other, so she doesn’t see why every touch and kiss on the cheek and cuddle needs to be interpreted differently just because they’re not eight anymore. They’re the same Fitzsimmons that they’ve always been.

Fitz blushes and prays that her parents aren’t eavesdropping from the hallway outside. “Yeah, but that was just because we fell asleep watching Sharkrantula.”

Jemma opens her mouth, obviously about to protest, but abruptly shuts it again. She shrugs in defeat. “Fine.” She changes the topic to what he wants to do tomorrow (finish up his Christmas shopping) and when he’s going to see his mum (she and Vincent are coming over to the Simmons home for Christmas. Then, when she senses that those topics have been sufficiently exhausted, she innocently asks, “What should we watch tonight? I was thinking we could watch the next couple episodes of Shark Trek.”

Fitz pulls his laptop out of its case. “Sounds good to me.”

Sometime during the third episode, Jemma conveniently falls asleep in Fitz’s bed.

Once the episode is over, Fitz closes his laptop and gently slides his lap out from under Jemma’s head. He gently scoots to the edge of the bed and is about to stand when he feels Jemma’s arm wrap around his waist.

“What time is it?” she mumbles.

Fitz turns to look at her, bracing a hand on the bed behind him and leaning back so he’s closer to her. “It’s almost two,” Fitz whispers.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to sleep in your room - you can stay here,” Fitz tells her.

“MmMmm. Stay,” Jemma demands sleepily.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Fitz gently tries to remove Jemma’s arm from his waist, but her hold tightens. Fitz’s hand slips and his elbow drops on the bed, so that he’s almost completely reclined against Jemma.

Jemma leans up a few inches, just far enough to kiss Fitz’s shoulder, before flopping heavily back onto the bed. “Stay. I’ll go back to my room soon.”

Fitz sighs. As Jemma leans up again, Fitz moves to lie down beside her and her lips meet his neck instead. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

Fitz gathers the blankets and pulls them over their bodies. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Jemma never makes it back to her room.


	8. Ice Cream Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sticky ice cream kisses, sitting on a bench in the park and laughing against each other’s lips.

The summer after their sophomore year at university, Fitz and Jemma are both given internships at a research facility. After much begging and cajoling, they manage to convince their parents to help them rent an apartment in Boston so they can stay in the city for the summer.

The two-bedroom apartment they rent is tiny and dingy. The narrow kitchen barely had enough room for both of them to walk in it - the person closest to the door has to either sit on the counter or walk out the door into the living room in order to let the other person out. And the living room is just barely big enough for their love seat and television. And the laminate flooring is peeling and curling in the corners of all the rooms and they have to try not to think about how the brown stains on the wall got there or where they came from. But the tiny apartment is _theirs_ (at least for the summer) and there are no adults or RAs supervising them, and they feel as adult as they’ve ever felt.

Fitz has never given marriage much thought before. The marriage between his mother and father had fallen apart rather early in his life, and his mother’s remarriage hadn’t given him a reason to view the institution favorably at all. However, he has to admit to himself that if marriage was anything like leaving for work with Jemma and spending his day catching glimpses of Jemma as they walked by each other’s labs and eating lunch with Jemma while sitting on a park bench across the street from the research facility and coming home with Jemma and cooking dinner with Jemma and eating dinner with Jemma and watching shark movies with Jemma and reading books on the same loveseat as Jemma, facing her as they each leaned on opposite arms of the sofa, with their legs tangled together, well, he supposes that he might like to get married in the future.

He tries not to listen to the small voice in his head that tells him that he might like to get married to _Jemma_ in the future. After all, he’s only 16.

But the small voice gets decidedly louder when one day, when the sun is shining brightly and the air is muggy and humid and makes his shirt collar stick to the back of his neck, Jemma approaches him from across the park with one ice cream cone in each hand. The ice cream is sweet and sticky and Fitz doesn’t think that there’s anything he’d like more than to eat quickly-melting ice cream on a park bench with Jemma Simmons every day for the rest of his life.

Jemma smiles as Fitz tries to frantically lick the sides of his cone before the melting ice cream dribbles across his fingers. She resists the urge to reach over and wipe the chocolate ice cream off his face with her napkin. “Hey, Fitz.”

Fitz turns to look at her. “Simmons?”

Jemma grins mischievously and asks, “Who am I?” Jemma exaggeratedly and messily licks her ice cream and looks up at Fitz, knowing that her mouth is smeared with strawberry ice cream.

Fitz’s smile falters and his brow furrows. Jemma frowns. “I was just teasing, Fitz - I just thought it was cute, is all - please don’t be-”

But Jemma never gets a chance to finish her sentence because the next thing she knows, Fitz’s lips are on hers and she can taste the chocolate in his mouth and feel his tongue licking the strawberry ice cream off her bottom lip and even though nothing else has ever surprised her as much as Fitz suddenly kissing her, what doesn’t surprise her is how _right_ it feels to be kissing Fitz with sticky lips and hands while sitting on a park bench under the lemonade yellow sun. 

Fitz pulls away as abruptly as he had leaned in and looks at Jemma with wide eyes full of fear. “I’m sorry!” he blurts. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Jemma reaches forward, takes Fitz’s ice cream cone from his hand, then twists around to toss both their cones into the rubbish bin behind her. She turns back around to face him, takes his sticky, ice-cream coated hand in hers, and leans in to kiss him again.


	9. Hand Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Kisses absently left on the backs of hands, fingers entwined in silent comfort.

Jemma glances at Fitz again.

It really is incredible how a day can go from extraordinary to extraordinarily awful in mere seconds.

Just two days ago, they were sitting in a park in Boston, eating ice cream and laughing and kissing. They hadn't had time to talk about it afterwards - about what it meant or what comes next - because they had to hurry back to work, but Jemma knew that if she could make it through the second half of her work day, she and Fitz would have ample time that night to discuss it. And for kissing. She was very much looking forward to that, too.

At the end of the day, Jemma rushed out of the lab to the oak tree outside of the building, where she and Fitz always met before taking the metro home together. As she approached, she watched Fitz slowly remove his phone from his ear and stare at the screen, his brow furrowed and lips pressed tightly together.

"Is something wrong?" Jemma asked.

"It's my dad," Fitz told her, still looking at his phone. "He had a heart attack." He looked up at her and Jemma's heart lurched because she could tell be the expression on his face exactly what had happened. "He's dead."

And now it's Friday and she and Fitz are on a plane to Scotland and he has not cried once in the past 48 hours. She knows that he must be sad and angry and grieving, but on the outside, he's mostly just passive, as though there's a switch on his back that controls his personality and emotions and everything that makes Fitz _her_ Fitz, and someone has flipped it off. He's been like a robot lately, just going through the motions of eating and sleeping and making travel arrangements and packing. He's barely spoken a word to her since he found out, except to ask her to come with him to Scotland.

Fitz shifts uncomfortably in his too-narrow plane seat. Even though his eyes are closed, he can feel Jemma staring at him. He leans his head against the window. He can't look at her; he resents the pity etched into every line of her features.

But the corners of his eyes twitch when he feels her hand covering his on his lap. He feels her body slump against his side and her head nestling onto his shoulder. He pretends to be sleeping for a few more seconds. He knows Jemma knows he's faking it - she's always been able to see right through him - so he's grateful that she's playing along.

It's not until Fitz turns his hand over, palm up, threading his fingers through hers, that she acknowledges that neither of them are sleeping.

"What are you thinking?" Jemma murmurs softly.

Fitz just shrugs, jostling Jemma's head a bit. She just burrows her head deeper into his neck.

Jemma squeezes his hand. "Talk to me, Fitz."

Fitz straightens and leans back into his seat. "I don't know how...how to put it into words."

"Try."

Fitz exhales deeply. "Part of me is really sad. Really, really sad. Because he's my dad, you know. But I can't help but feel...just...I feel so angry at him, at the same time. Because even though he was my dad, he wasn’t a very good dad, and I still resent him for not even trying." He doesn't dare open his eyes. "I know it's awful," he admits softly.

Jemma is silent for a long moment. She doesn’t deny it - she knows he wouldn’t believe her. She knows that any attempts to make him feel better would sound dismissive. So instead, she asks, “Why is it awful?”

“Because he’s dead.” Fitz’s voice cracks on the last word and he can feel the tears coming and he doesn’t want to cry in the middle of a plane full of people, but that’s the tradeoff for stuffing everything down for so long - it just comes out later, in the most inconvenient of circumstances. “And I don’t know how to grieve someone I barely knew. How can I grieve someone who’s basically been a non-entity in my life for the past ten years?”

“You’re grieving the relationship you could have had with him,” Jemma says softly.

Fitz squeezes his eyes shut even more tightly, as though by doing so, he could block out the whole world. “And now we don’t even get a chance, you know? I don’t know if things could have been fixed between us - if he ever could’ve loved me.”

Fitz feels Jemma’s head lift from his shoulder. He immediately misses the contact, but then it’s replaced by the soft pad of her thumb wiping away an errant tear running down his cheek. “He loved you, Fitz.”

Fitz shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

Even with her body no longer leaning against his, he can still feel her breathing deeply, in and out, in and out, in and out. When she speaks, her voice is pure comfort, like drinking warm milk with honey, like wearing knobbled knitted socks, like being wrapped in a thick fleece blanket. “Sometimes people aren’t capable of being who we need them to be. It doesn’t mean that we’re wrong for wanting or needing those things. But it also doesn’t mean that they don’t love us, in their own way.”

Fitz breathes out heavily. “Yeah. Okay.”

Jemma knows that those two words don’t really mean that he believes it or accepts it. They mean that he’s done talking about it for the time being. So she leans her head back onto his shoulder and closes her eyes. When she lifts their clasped hands to her lips and kisses the back of his hand, it’s more instinct than conscious decision.

Fitz’s eyes fly open. He stares at Jemma with that look, the one that is serious and intent and is only ever directed at her. He tilts his head to kiss her hairline, then rests his cheek on the top of her head.

And then they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we now interrupt the momentum of a blossoming romance to bring you this side of angst.
> 
> Believe it or not, this is the least angsty version of this chapter that I've written.
> 
> But I promise - more fluffy smooches are on their way!


	10. Autumn Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Soft goodnight kisses exchanged on lamp-lit doorsteps on chilly autumn evenings.

Fitz has been staring blankly at his textbook for the past hour. He turns the page anyways.

He feels bad - Jemma convinced him to take extra courses with her this semester so that they can graduate a year early, but at this point in time, he’s doing such a terrible job of keeping up that she’ll probably move on without him.

It probably doesn’t matter. He only wants one doctorate, after all. Jemma wants two, one for each Nobel prize that Marie Curie won. If they keep up their respective paces, they’ll probably finish their schooling at the same time.

Jemma looks up at Fitz. The setting sun shines in through the library window behind him, bathing him in golden light. She feels the telltale flutter in her stomach that’s been even more active since that day in the park, the same flutter that tries to spur her into kissing him again, but between them are a huge pile of books and even more unsaid words.

Since Fitz found out about his father, he’s been more withdrawn, contemplative. And Jemma understands that he’s navigating through one momentous change in his life and he might not be ready to resume exploring what he started that day in the park.

But she wishes he would give some indication of where they stand. Are they just on hold? Was there ever anything to put on hold? Was the kiss just some crazy impulse in his sugar-induced euphoria? Does he want to just be friends indefinitely?

But when she thinks about it, it’s unfair to say they’re _just_ friends. It makes it sound less, somehow, than what they could be. But there is no _less_. No _more_. Whether or not kissing is involved doesn’t change the fierce tenderness and affection and loyalty they feel for each other.

But boy, does Jemma desperately want kissing to be involved.

Fitz looks up and catches her staring at him. “Creeper,” he teases, a slight smile brightening his face.

Jemma blushes. “I’m just trying to keep you accountable Fitz,” she tells him haughtily. “You’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying!” Fitz protests.

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s not stoichiochemistry.”

Fitz’s smile fades. He looks down at his desk.

“Is something wrong?” Jemma asks, suddenly worried.

“I was just thinking,” Fitz mumbles. “You know the third weekend of October?”

“What about it?”

Fitz shrugs. “I was thinking we could go home. For a visit.”

A smile blooms across Jemma’s face. “Yeah? For your mum’s birthday?”

“Yeah.”

Jemma reaches out a hand to cover his. “Should I call my parents and let them know to fix up the guest room?”

Fitz scratches behind his ear with one finger, still looking down at the desk. “Actually, I was thinking I’d stay at my mum’s this time.”

Jemma’s grin widens even further. She wants to tell him she’s proud of him for being willing to put up with his stepfather, that he’s a good son, that she’s sure this visit will be good for both him and his mum. But Jemma knows that he doesn’t want her to make a big deal of it - that he’s embarrassed that he’s waited this long to visit - truly visit - in the first place. So all she says is, “Sounds good.”

\--------------------

Jemma stretches on her tiptoes and pulls out a tin of unsweetened cocoa powder from her parents’ kitchen cabinet. “I’m telling you, Fitz, you can’t just substitute cake flour for all purpose flour!”

“But we’re making a cake!” Fitz points insistently at the glossy picture in the cookbook.

Jemma grabs the box of cake flour in both hands and turns to Fitz, thrusting the ingredients list in his face. “But cake flour already has leavening in it!”

Fitz pulls the box out of her grip and returns it to the counter. “Okay, so we just leave out the baking soda!”

Jemma exhales forcefully. “That’s not how it works!”

“How do _you_ know?” Fitz retorts.

Jemma lets out a sigh of pretend despair as she rummages through the refrigerator for butter. “Oh, if only we had a chemist in the room to tell us how it works.” She straightens to look at Fitz with a raised eyebrow. “Oh wait - that’s me.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Oh yes, that mercury thiocyanate you cooked up last week was delicious.”

Jemma narrows her eyes at him and slams the refrigerator door shut. “Fine. I’ll go to the store for more flour, and while I’m doing that, you just go ahead and try it your way and we’ll see how that works out.” She stalks out of the kitchen, grabbing her purse on her way out.

She tries not to gloat too much when she returns to a sullen Fitz with a flat and gummy cake.

\--------------------------

Jemma pulls her knit hat down more snugly over her ears. As much as she loves the bright colors and earthy scents of autumn, as much as she loves hearing the satisfying crunch of dried leaves under her boots as Fitz walks her home, she hates being cold. She reaches over to grab Fitz’s gloved hand in hers.

“I think your mom really enjoyed dinner,” Jemma offers.

Fitz puts their clasped hands into his coat pocket, pulling Jemma closer to him in the process. “Yeah,” he agrees, looking down at the ground.

“And she said the cake was delicious.”

Fitz barks out a short laugh. “You made the cake, Jemma.”

“I supervised,” she corrects him, nudging him with her shoulder. “You did all the hard work.”

Fitz just grunts in acquiescence.

They both fall silent again. Jemma struggles to think of something to say. “It was nice of Vincent to take care of the dishes,” she blurts.

“Mmhmm.” Fitz’s voice is too low and his expression too dark for it to be a true agreement.

Jemma never used to mind walking in silence next to Fitz. She loved how they could let their minds wander, knowing they would snap back to their bodies like a rubberband when needed. She loved how comfortable they were with each other, that they didn’t need words because all they needed was each other.

But now their silences are full of questions and uncertainties and Jemma worries that Fitz will never get around to answering them. And she supposes that’s why, when Fitz turns to walk away after depositing her on the front porch of her parents’ house, Jemma grabs his wrist and blurts, “Are you ever going to kiss me again?”

Fitz just stares at her, wide-eyed. “Do you want me to?”

Jemma huffs in disbelief. “I thought I made that fairly obvious months ago.”

Fitz steps in closer to her. “I know, but then...you know.”

Jemma shakes her head. “I _don’t_ know, actually.”

Fitz sighs. “I just...after my dad, you know, I was so…” He shrugs. “Distracted, I guess. It was confusing for me, and so I didn’t want to start things with you like that. And then it felt like we lost momentum and I didn’t know how to get it back.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “That probably doesn’t make sense to you.”

Jemma takes a step towards him. “Your thoughts and feelings don’t have to make sense to me in order to be valid. I’ll still accept them.” She lets go of his wrist and threads their fingers together. “That’s what best friends do.”

Fitz hesitantly lifts a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Best friends?” he asks softly. “Is that all we are?”

Jemma allows her eyes to roam over his face, to examine the light and shadows playing over the features she knows so well. “I don’t know, Fitz. I know how _I_ feel about you. How do you feel about me?”

Fitz blinks in surprise. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Jemma asks, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Jemma, I...I love you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I love you, too,” Jemma responds automatically, and maybe she should have thought about it more before saying it because it’s a pretty serious thing to say, but she thinks that maybe, at this point, her love for Fitz is so deeply ingrained in her that it’s become reflex, an autonomous response. She doesn’t need to think about it because it just _is_.

Fitz and Jemma just grin stupidly at each other for a few long moments until Jemma once again interrupts the silence.

“Fitz?”

“Yes?”

“You can kiss me now.”

“Oh. Right.”

And then Fitz’s hands splay softly around her waist and Jemma’s hands softly stroke along his jawline and their lips move softly against each other and Jemma doesn’t interrupt the silence again for a very long time.


	11. Morning Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: morning kisses; gentle and lazy, humming in contentment, limbs still tangled together, hands wandering over soft exposed skin.

When Fitz opens his eyes, Jemma’s tiny studio flat is so dark that he thinks it’s still night. He reaches across Jemma’s shoulders to grab the remote off her nightstand and points it towards the telly, turning off the DVD menu sequence that’s been playing on loop since they fell asleep. Once the blue glow of the screen fades, Fitz realizes that it is, indeed, morning when he notices the hazy light coming in through the windows, the only sunlight to make it past the blanket of gray clouds hovering next to Jemma’s third story window.

Outside, the shrill and howling wind pushes against the trees outside, causing leaves and branches to scrape against the brick walls of the building. The heavy rain drums insistently against the window panes, as though trying to force its way in. Fitz burrows deeper under the covers and wraps his arm around Jemma’s waist, pulling her closer to him. He kisses her forehead and smiles, anticipating how nice it will be when she wakes up and they can cuddle and talk. And kiss. Also, kiss.

Fitz wrinkles his nose, remembering his morning breath. He gently lets go of Jemma and slides out of their warm cocoon of blankets. He quietly pads over to her bathroom and opens her medicine cabinet, hoping to find a bottle of mouthwash. Instead, he finds a brand new toothbrush, still in its plastic packaging, and a two-pack of men’s disposable razors. Fitz smiles, quickly brushes his teeth and shaves his face, and hurries back to bed.

Jemma’s eyes blink open as Fitz climbs back under the blankets. She holds her arms out. “Come here,” she demands sleepily.

Fitz presses his body against hers and meets her lips in a kiss, long and slow and lazy.

“Minty,” Jemma observes when they pause for breath.

Fitz smiles at Jemma. “You too. When’d you have time to do that?”

Jemma attempts to wink, but her eyes are still half-closed so it just looks like a twitch in the corner of her eye. “I excel at preparation.” She slides her hand under the hem of Fitz’s jumper and up his back. She leans in for another kiss.

Fitz’s hand reaches up to tangle through Jemma’s hair. “I noticed,” Fitz murmurs into her mouth. He presses kisses across her jaw and nibbles on her earlobe. “You had toiletries and jogging bottoms here for me. Were you _planning_ on having me sleep over?”

Jemma smiles and tilts her head to give him better access to her neck. “It wasn’t so much a plan as much as an expectation. We always fall asleep on movie nights.”

Fitz palms the back of her thigh and pulls it towards him, sandwiching it between his legs. “I think you were planning on seducing me,” he teases.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “If I were planning on seducing you, I would have succeeded. And you wouldn’t have fallen asleep before we could get in a proper snog.”

Fitz winces. “Sorry. I was knackered. Being in this Ph.D. program is harder than I thought. I mean, it’s easy academically, but it’s just hard because -”

“It’s time-consuming,” Jemma finishes for him. “I know. I feel the same way.”

“But we’re snogging _now_ ,” Fitz points out, resting his forehead on hers.

“You’re talking now,” Jemma corrects.

Fitz grins. “Silly me. I’ll fix that right away.” He catches her lips in his again. As they kiss, his fingers trail down her jawline, the slope of her neck, the dips of her clavicle, before sliding a sleeve off her shoulder and splaying his hand on the skin over her shoulder blade.

Jemma presses in closer to him. “You’re warm,” she murmurs into his lips.

“You’re talki-” Fitz’s soft teasing suddenly turns into a surprised shriek. “Holy hell, woman! Your feet are icicles!”

“I know. That’s why I’m warming them on your legs.”

“You’re a right menace, you are,” Fitz complains.

“Snogging,” Jemma reminds him.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Somehow, this moment with Jemma, with his hands skimming the bare strip of skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and with her hands having pushed up his jumper to splay against his back and with their legs tangled together and with their hips pressed against each other, reminds Fitz of when they were eight and played Explorer. Except that now, instead of categorizing the plant life in the park, Fitz is categorizing the freckles on Jemma’s face, and instead of mapping her backyard with paper and pencil, Jemma is mapping Fitz’s body with her hands, and instead of exploring every corner and side street in their neighborhood, they are slowly and meticulously exploring the insides of each other’s mouths with their tongues, and instead of discovering new insects under overturned rocks, they are still, even now, discovering new facets of each other, never-before-seen in their eleven years of friendship.

And Fitz’s heart flutters with the anticipation of future explorations and discoveries.


	12. Stay In Bed Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Stay in bed kisses, mischievous and deep, punctuating flirtatiously whispered bargaining words.

Jemma digs the toes of her red flats into the hallway carpet and excitedly raps her knuckles against door 5B. She presses her ear against the door, hoping to hear footsteps on the other side. Silence. Frowning, she digs through her massive purse to find the spare key that Fitz gave her when he first moved in.

Just as she’s about to slide the key into the lock, the door swings open.

“Morning, Lance!” Jemma greets him cheerfully as she brushes past him into the flat.

“What’re you doing here so early, Simmons?” Hunter complains, rubbing the bleariness out of his eyes.

“Fitz and I have a very full day planned,” Jemma informs him.

“Does Fitz know that?”

Jemma opens her mouth to respond, but then snaps it shut. She turns to look worriedly at Fitz’s closed bedroom door. “He’s not still asleep, is he?”

“Hate to break it to you, love, but I’m pretty sure that the whole city is still asleep,” Hunter yawns.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Jemma scoffs. “I passed at least two people on my way here. At least.” She stalks to Fitz’s bedroom door, then stops short before turning the knob. She turns to glare at Hunter. “And don’t call me ‘love’.”

Fitz’s room is still dark, his drawn curtains blocking out any of the early morning sunlight that might have shone through his window. The lump under the covers gently rises and falls as Fitz softly snores.

Jemma walks to the window and throws open Fitz’s curtains. She drops her purse on the floor and sits on the edge of Fitz’s bed, gently pulling the covers off his face.

“Fitz.”

“Heeurgh.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose and pushes Fitz’s shoulders harder. “Fitz, wake up.”

Fitz rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. “No.”

Jemma fondly smiles down at him and runs her fingers through his rumpled curls. “Guess who’s 19 today.”

“No one.”

Jemma pushes at his shoulder, rolling him onto his side. She leans down and kisses his nose. “It’s you, silly. Now get up so we can go to your birthday breakfast.”

“It’s too early,” Fitz complains.

“I have a full day planned for us and it’s going to be brilliant, Fitz,” Jemma informs him. “But first, you need to get out of bed.” Jemma pushes the covers further down, exposing his torso and freeing his arms, which Fitz immediately takes advantage of by wrapping one around Jemma’s waist and pulling her into the bed with him.

“Fitz!” Jemma yelps.

Fitz pulls her over his body and rolls them both towards the wall. He kisses Jemma’s forehead. “Let’s just sleep a little bit longer.”

“Fi-itz,” Jemma wheedles. “Pancakes. Bacon. Eggs.” She kisses his lips between each word.

“Sleep.” Fitz rolls over so that he’s looking down at her, one hand braced on the mattress on the other side of her shoulder, and leans down to kiss her. “Cuddles.” He kisses her again. “More sleep.”

Jemma pouts and locks her wrists behind his neck. “But I wanted us to be the first in line to the new temporary exhibit at the science museum.” She leans up to kiss him again, and this time she wiggles her tongue past his lips.

Fitz pulls away from her. “Jemma.” Fitz opens one eye to peer at her.

“Yes, Fitz?”

“Is it, or is it not, my birthday?”

“It is your birthday,” Jemma affirms.

“That means, as the birthday boy, I get to choose what to do today. And I…” he leans forward to give her a soft kiss. “I want to sleep a little more.”

Jemma sits up. “That’s fine - I’ll just -” Fitz immediately pulls her back down. “Fitz!” Jemma complains. "I was going to say that I’d cook you breakfast so you could sleep more.”

Fitz presses his lips to hers again, skimming one hand down her thigh. “Be a little spoon.”

“So bossy today,” Jemma observes teasingly when they pause for breath.

Fitz kisses her again. “The one day a year I get to boss you around for a change,” he mumbles into her mouth. “Now turn over. I want to be a big spoon.”

Jemma rolls her eyes and turns to face the wall. Fitz scoots in closer to her and presses his body against hers. Jemma wiggles her arse closer into his body.

Fitz moves Jemma’s hair off her neck and presses a kiss to the skin there. “Now sleep.”

Jemma closes her eyes, and thinks that she might actually fall back asleep when she hears Fitz’s voice again.

“Jemma?”

“Hmm?”

“Do we have all the ingredients for brownies?”

Jemma opens her eyes and smiles. “Unless you or Lance went shopping since I left last night, I’m pretty sure have we zero of the ingredients for brownies.”

Fitz nibbles on her earlobe. “You should go to the store and buy the ingredients and make me brownies.”

“You should stop being lazy and get out of bed,” Jemma retorts.

“Too comfortable. Can I please have brownies for breakfast?”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “That is the unhealthiest idea I’ve ever heard from you. And that’s saying something.”

“Lance lets me eat Cocoa Puffs.”

Jemma looks over her shoulder at Fitz. “Make up your mind. Do you want brownies for breakfast or do you want me to stay in bed with you?”

Fitz hesitates, and Jemma’s about to climb out of bed when Fitz says, “You. I want you to stay.”

Jemma’s lips stretch into a wide grin. “Fitz!” She rolls over to face him. “Did you just choose me over brownies?”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big-”

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Jemma surges forward to cover his lips with hers.

They don’t make it to the science museum. Instead, they crawl into the sunlight in the early afternoon to go to the grocery store, return to the flat to bake brownies, then immediately retreat to Fitz’s bedroom with the warm pan to eat them all in bed.

It’s Fitz’s favorite birthday yet.


	13. Heated kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Heated kisses with gasps in between, hands tugging at clothes and exploring skin, bodies pressed close, giving in.
> 
> Also, perhaps the rating for this chapter should be a T? *shrugs*

Jemma starts searching for him as soon as her airplane lands in Portland. Logically, she knows her chances of spotting him are slim, as his itinerary clearly states that he arrives a full four hours after her, but she can't help but hope against hope that she would walk past him waiting for his luggage in baggage claim or sitting in the back corner of her light-rail cab or checking into his room in the hotel lobby where their conference was being held.

Jemma feels her insides tumble in anticipation of seeing Fitz face-to-face after ten long weeks apart. She almost deferred starting on her second Ph.D. at Columbia, but Fitz insisted that once he finished his TA duties this semester at MIT, he could work on his dissertation from anywhere and that it would be easy for him to move to New York after five months. They figured that Boston and New York were close enough that they could get through their separation by visiting every other weekend. Unfortunately, it hadn't quite worked out that way. They were both so busy that neither of them had been able to visit the other beyond Fitz's initial trip two weeks into her doctoral program.

But this weekend, they're going to be presenting at the same conference and staying at the same hotel and, as Jemma had sprung for her own room instead of taking up Dr. Weaver's offer to split the cost for a double, sleeping in the same bed.

Jemma takes her time getting ready for the conference's opening reception, meticulously shaving and plucking, applying makeup, and curling her hair, her nerves causing her hands to shake the whole time. She wonders if this is how people generally feel before going on first dates with someone they really like - jittery with barely-contained excitement, eager to make a good first impression, afraid of mucking it all up. It's laughable to even think about first impressions when it's Fitz, but this is the longest they've ever been apart and she's worried that he'll have built her up in his head and she'll end up letting him down.

As she walks into the hotel ballroom, she snags a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and walks directly to the refreshments table, hoping that it will be the first place Fitz will visit upon his arrival. She keeps her eyes trained on the door, wanting to see him as soon as he walks in. She raises her champagne to her lips.

"Excuse me, Miss," someone drawls behind her, "but I'm gonna need to see your ID before you take another sip of champagne."

Jemma rolls her eyes as she turns around. Doesn't the hotel staff have anything better to do than -

"Fitz!" Jemma shouts, throwing her arms around his neck.

Fitz laughs as he wraps his arms around her waist and squeezes her tight.

To Jemma's horror, she immediately starts to sob. "I miss you," she whimpers into his neck.

"I'm here," Fitz assures her, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

Jemma pulls away from him and wipes at her eyes. "Where's your luggage?"

Fitz grabs a napkin off a nearby table and dabs at her face. "In the lobby, at the reception desk. Can we bring it up to your room?"

Jemma gives him a watery smile. "Of course."

Jemma tightly grips Fitz's hand as they walk through the lobby to retrieve his bag, as they wait for their lift to arrive, as they cram into the corner of the lift to accommodate a large and rambunctious family of nine, and as they watch the numbers above the door blink, tracking their ascent.

Jemma stares at Fitz, cataloging all the changes she sees in him. Logically, Jemma knows that people don’t change _that_ much in ten weeks, but Fitz has cut his hair and let stubble grow on his face and is wearing a new pair of slacks that make his arse look _fantastic_ , and Jemma’s not sure if he’s objectively ten times hotter than when she last saw him or if it’s an effect of going so long without seeing him. He’s looking at her too, and she wonders if he’s similarly cataloging the changes he sees in her.

As the parents herd their children out of the elevator on the fourth floor, still loudly arguing about whether they would get dinner at The Cheesecake Factory or The Old Spaghetti Factory, Jemma tries to think of something pithy and witty to say about dinner and factories or perhaps about the parents being baby factories. She turns to Fitz and smiles and opens her mouth to say the joke that she hadn't quite worked out yet, but as soon as the door slides shut, Fitz drops his bags and presses her against the wall, kissing her with the same level of desperation and intensity that has built up in the pit of her stomach over the course of ten weeks without Fitz.

She brings her hands up to his face, her thumbs stroking the stubble on his jawline. Her other fingers clutch at his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp. She wraps her arms around him, hooking his neck within the crooks of her elbows, and presses her hips forward, wanting to be even closer to him.

He pushes her even more firmly against the wall and twists his fingers into the fabric of her dress at her waist, and she loves this feeling, the feeling of being pressed in from all sides, of being surrounded by him. He lowers one hand to the hem of her dress and slowly starts to trace his way up her bare leg underneath.

The elevator jerks to a stop with a ding, and the doors slide open. Fitz steps back from Jemma, both of them staring at each other and panting for breath.

Jemma smooths down her dress and bends down to pick up one of Fitz's bags, swinging the strap onto her shoulder. "Let's go." Fitz picks up his other bag and follows her.

They're silent as they walk down the hall towards her room, both of them lost in thought. Jemma slides her key card into the door, and once the light turns green, turns the door knob and pushes the door in. Fitz follows her into the room, reaching towards the wall to turn on the light, but before he finds the switch, Jemma pushes him against the door, closing it behind him in the process, and surges forward to meet his lips.

Fitz immediately reciprocates, turning them so that Jemma's pressed against the door again. Jemma hooks her fingers into the belt loops of his trousers, pulling his hips towards hers.

Fitz wraps one arm around her waist and with his other hand, cradles the back of her head. He walks backwards towards the bed, pulling her along with him, their lips still fused together.

When Fitz’s knees hit the edge of the bed, his legs buckle and he falls to a sitting position. The mattress bounces beneath him and he lets go of Jemma to brace his hands behind him so that he doesn’t topple over. Jemma crawls into his lap, straddling him and cupping his face in her hands.

Fitz pulls away with a gasp and leans his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "I miss you so much," he whispers, his voice paper-thin and words feather-soft.

Jemma smiles fondly at him, gently skimming her fingertips along the side of his face. "I'm here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the great feedback you've been leaving! With most of these chapters, I've felt a little iffy about posting them because I know it's not my best work, and a lot of the time, I'm not even sure it's any good at all, but I post it anyways because I figure this is just a fun hobby and it doesn't need to be a masterpiece. But then you all post such lovely comments and it really makes my day. Thank you so much for your kindness and support!


	14. Afterglow Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Honeymoon Over My Hammy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Long, slow kisses in the afterglow, fingers woven through hair and hearts beating in unison.

Fitz is still panting for breath and looking up at the ceiling when he feels Jemma roll onto her side and sling her arm over his torso.

“I love you,” she breathes.

Fitz turns his head to face Jemma. Her skin is flushed and her hair has fallen out of its artfully-mussed chignon, rendering it just _mussed_. He smiles at her and reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Best friends.”

Jemma nods as she leans in. “Yes.” She kisses him, long and slow and deep, bringing her fingers up to run through his hair. Fitz rolls onto his side to face her and matches her pace, plunging his fingers into the mess of curls and bobbi pins behind her head. He’d thought that once they’d taken this step, things would feel different somehow. That he’d finally feel as though he’d gotten close enough to her. That at the very least, this night would feel new and momentous, as though they’d leapt off a precipitous cliff into the great unknown.

But it doesn’t. It still feels warm and familiar and the same as any other night they’d spent together. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just strange in how _not strange_ it feels.

A deep rumbling sounds from between them and Jemma pulls away, wide-eyed. Fitz smiles at her. “I know that sound usually comes from me, but I’m pretty sure it came from you this time,” he teases.

Jemma groans and rolls onto her back. “I know! I’m _famished!_ Every time I tried to take another bite of food, Mum literally took the plate out of my hands so we could take another picture with more family members. I think I only got one bite of our cake, and that was the one you smashed into my face.”

Fitz scoots in closer to her and traces her collarbone with his fingertips. “You know, this wouldn’t have happened if we had a formal dinner instead of a garden party,” he says teasingly.

“I know,” Jemma sighs. “But, as you well know, studies show that the less formal and expensive a wedding is, the greater the marriage’s chance of success.”

“And as _you_ well know, correlation does not equal causation,” Fitz reminds her.

Jemma rolls back onto her side to face him. “I know,” she admits, running her fingers through his hair again. “But it just seems like statistics are against us, you know, with us getting married so young. Twenty is way below the median age range that predicts optimal success. I just wanted to improve our odds.”

“Well,” Fitz smiles, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. “We are highly educated, we both have stable incomes, we have compatible life goals, and we’ve been best friends for thirteen years. I think our odds are fine.” He reaches up to smooth the worried wrinkles in Jemma’s forehead. “Besides, if anything, I think the odds have always been on our side. Think about it - what are the odds of two British prodigies ending up in the same fifth grade classroom in America?”

The corners of Jemma’s lips curl up into a relieved smile. “You’re right.”

Fitz playfully smacks her bottom. “Damn right, I am. Now you get all those pins out of your hair and I’ll call room service.”

They both turn away from each other and towards their respective nightstands, Fitz cradling the hotel phone between his neck and ear and Jemma creating an increasingly large pile of bobbi pins. Jemma’s turns to look at Fitz with an expression of concern when she hears him swear under his breath and hang up the phone.

Fitz looks at Jemma apologetically. “Got an automated message. They stopped room service at 11.” Fitz grabs his cell phone and taps at the screen. “But according to this...there’s a Denny’s about two blocks over.”

Jemma stands excitedly. “Let’s go.”

Fitz starts to pull on the trousers he was wearing earlier. “You should wear your dress.”

Jemma wrinkles her nose. “To Denny’s?”

Fitz shrugs. “Yeah. Why not? It’s still our wedding day. You paid for a dress you clearly love and will never get to wear again. Might as well wear it while you can.”

Jemma looks skeptical. “Will you wear your suit?”

“Of course. I paid money for this too, you know.”

The hostess at Denny’s raises her eyebrows when she sees them walk in, Jemma in her silk wedding dress and Fitz’s navy cardigan, her tousled hair spilling over her shoulders, and Fitz with his rumpled white dress shirt hastily tucked into his black trousers. “Cute,” she comments, bemused, before showing them to their table.

As they sit across from each other in a red vinyl booth, shoveling down hash browns and gulping down milkshakes, Jemma grins at Fitz. “You have some pretty good ideas sometimes, Dr. Fitzsimmons.”

Fitz grins back. “Glad to be of service, Dr. Dr. Fitzsimmons.”


	15. Wake Up Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Wake up kisses pressed gently to the column of A’s neck or the underside of B’s jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING ALERT: I'm going to say this is either a hard T or a soft M.

Jemma stirs out of her slumber at the feeling of Fitz’s lips pressing kisses up her neck. She hums in contented approval.

“Morning, Love,” Fitz whispers.

“Mmhmm,” Jemma agrees, still struggling to make her way out from under the heavy weight of sleep.

Fitz’s lips travel down the middle of her chest, down her torso, until he reaches her belly button. He presses an open-mouthed kiss there and calls out, “Morning, Baby.”

Jemma giggles and scratches his scalp. It hadn’t necessarily been their plan to start a family so early in their marriage, but it was difficult for Jemma to feel too much regret when Fitz was clearly very excited about it all.

“I love you,” Fitz says into Jemma’s tummy, which hasn’t yet begun to show evidence of the life growing inside. Fitz turns his head away from Jemma and presses his ear to her belly button. He raises his voice several octaves. “I love you too, Daddy,” he squeaks. Fitz turns to Jemma, eyes wide in exaggerated shock. “Jem, the baby can talk.” He presses his cheek to her stomach. “Think the baby can kick, too?”

Jemma wordlessly twitches the muscles in her stomach, bumping it into Fitz’s cheek.

Fitz laughs as he kisses his way back up to her neck. He nuzzles his face into her neck and rests his head on her shoulder, wrapping all four limbs around her body as though trying to absorb her. “Jemma, thank you for turning your tummy into a tiny house for my mate to stay in. He’s just going through a really rough patch right now.”

“Yeah?” Jemma asks, smiling.

Fitz nods. “Yeah. He lost his job, his girlfriend ran off with his best mate…”

“Sounds tragic,” Jemma agrees. “I guess I can help him out. It’s just a couple more months, right?”

Fitz scoots up so that he can rest his head next to Jemma’s on her pillow. He gives her an apologetic look. “He might be staying for an additional seven months.”

Jemma grimaces. “Wow, not afraid of overstaying his welcome, is he?” She looks askance, pretending to make mental calculations. “I guess he can stay for four more months,” she concedes. “But then you have to take care of the last three. It’s only fair.”

Fitz grins. “Well, I guess if seahorses can do it…”

Jemma leans forward to kiss his forehead. “That’s the spirit.”

Fitz pulls her closer to him, returning his lips to her neck and clamping his limbs around her like a vise. Jemma hisses in pain.

Fitz loosens his hold on her and jerks away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jemma assures him. “Just that my breasts are really tender and your arm is kind of pressing into them, is all.”

Fitz smiles into her neck. “They’re also really humongous. Have you noticed that?”

Jemma groans. “Don’t remind me.”

Fitz’s fingers wiggle under the band of her sports bra. “Not a bad thing.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Just wait until after the baby has sucked me dry. Then they’ll just hang there, all saggy-like.”

Fitz’s shoulders shake with barely contained laughter, and Jemma narrows her eyes at him, knowing that a joke is coming.

“It’s okay,” Fitz assures her, his voice teasing. “Once they’re hanging low, you can do so much more with them.” Jemma resists the urge to ask what he’s going on about, but Fitz continues unprompted. “For example, you can tie them in a knot.”

Jemma sighs heavily. “Ugh, Fitz.”

“You can tie them in a bow,” Fitz continues. “You can throw ‘em o’er your shoulder like a continental soldier.”

“Speaking of soldiers,” Jemma interrupts. She raises an eyebrow. “Someone’s certainly standing at attention.”

Fitz grins. “Mrs. Dr. Fitzsimmons - are you attempting to get me to stop teasing you by distracting me with sex?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Mr. Dr. Fitzsimmons,” Jemma confirms, keeping her face serious and her voice professional. “Is that a problem?”

Fitz enthusiastically shakes his head. “Nope, definitely not a problem.” He rolls on top of her and pulls their sheets over their heads. “Sounds brilliant, actually.”


	16. Rushed Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Rushed late for work kisses, a flash of heat before hurrying out the door.

Jemma shoves two slices of wheat bread into the toaster slots and pressed down the lever. "Fitz!" she calls out as she scoops generous spoonfuls of sugar into Fitz's thermos of tea. "You're going to be late!"

Peggy throws a Cheerio at Jemma from her perch in her high chair. Jemma turns to Peggy and makes an exaggeratedly sad face. "No, thank you," she tells Peggy, shaking her head. Peggy places the next Cheerio in her mouth.

"Coming!" Fitz hurries into their buttercup yellow kitchen, haphazardly looping his tie around his neck, tripping on Jemma's suitcase on the way. "Ow!"

Jemma winces. "Sorry! Can you move that for me?"

Fitz drags the suitcase closer to the door, mumbling indecipherably.

"I appreciate you," Jemma tells him, voice still apologetic, as Fitz crouches next to Peggy to coo at her and ruffle her brown curls.

Fitz approaches Jemma from behind and wraps his arms around her waist. "Are you sure you have to go to New Mexico?"

The toast pops out of the toaster. Jemma swiftly grabs them and plops them onto a plate. "It's only for the weekend," Jemma reminds him as she quickly spreads butter onto each slice.

"Today's not the weekend," Fitz grumbles.

Jemma rolls her eyes. "Friday and the weekend." She holds up a slice of toast over her shoulder, offering it to Fitz. Fitz takes a bite without letting go of her. "And technically, the conference started last night, so I'm already missing a day."

"Are you sure you don't need a ride to the airport?" Fitz asks for the thousandth time.

"Quite sure," Jemma assures him, sliding out of his grasp and turning around to lean back against the counter. "Besides my flight isn't until 10:30, and you need to be at the lab to make sure that -"

"The lab techs don't touch your computer while it's running the simulation, I know." Fitz rolls his eyes and takes the toast from her. He gives her a hopeful smile. "You'll Skype -"

"As soon as I get to the hotel," Jemma promises, as she hands Fitz his thermos of tea and straightens his tie. She pushes lightly at his shoulders. "Now go! You're going to be late!"

Fitz glances at his watch and grimaces. "Right," he nods before turning and rushing out the door.

Jemma rolls her eyes. "Fitz!"

"Right!" Fitz remembers. He rushes back and catches Jemma's lips between his in a kiss that's just as heated as it is brief. "Miss you already," he tells her before rushing out the door again.

Jemma's laugh is half-amused, half-exasperated. "Fitz!"

Fitz rushes back in and plucks Peggy from her high chair. "Right. We've got to get you to daycare."

Jemma shakes her head as she watches them leave. She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and sets an alarm to text Fitz a reminder to pick up Peggy from daycare. Just in case.


	17. Flower Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tender kisses when one brings home flowers for the other.

Jemma smiles from her perch on the front steps of their home as she watches Fitz’s Buick pull into their driveway. “Peggy!” she calls, turning her head to look at her daughter, where she’s playing with her friend in their lawn. “Look who’s home!”

Jemma frowns when she notices Peggy thrusting her cupped palms into Daniel’s face and his resulting expression of horror. He backs away, but Peggy follows him, and although Jemma can’t hear her words, she can recognize her insistent and bossy tone of voice anywhere. “Peggy! If Daniel says ‘stop’, you need to stop!” Jemma reminds her.

“Wonder who she gets that from?” Fitz jokes as he collapses next to her on the steps.

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating.” She leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees, and smiles when she catches a glimpse of bright pink and orange lying on the steps on the other side of Fitz’s lap. “Those wouldn’t happen to be for me, would they?”

Fitz picks of the bouquet of Gerbera daisies and plops them into his lap. “What? These?” he asks innocently. “Nope. These are mine.”

Jemma reaches into his lap and tangles her fingers in his. “Oh, are they?”

Fitz looks up at the cloudless sky, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can share.”

“Aww.” Jemma leans forward and gives him a soft kiss on his lips before pulling the flowers into her own lap. “Thank you.”

Daniel runs up to them, out of breath, his dark hair plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead. “Mrs. Fitzsimmons, I told her I didn’t want to hold it!” he pants.

“Peggy!” Fitz calls out as Peggy runs towards them from across the lawn. “No means no!” 

Peggy plants herself next to Daniel and rolls her eyes. “Ugh, Daniel, I told you that it’s perfectly harmless! Look!” Peggy walks up to Jemma and unfurls her dirt-crusted fingers from her hand.

Jemma gasps with delight and leans down. “Look at that! What is it?”

“It’s a roly poly!” Peggy says proudly. “Can we keep it?”

“Peggy! I already told you - no bugs in the house!” Fitz reminds her. “They want to be outside. That’s where all their family and friends are.”

Peggy pouts at Jemma. “Please?”

Jemma turns to pout at Fitz. “Fitz. It’s just a roly poly!”

Fitz briefly narrows her eyes at her before giving her his best hangdog expression.

Jemma huffs, exasperated. “Darn you and your sad puppy eyes,” she mutters under her breath. “Peggy, your father’s right. This little guy belongs outside. How about we put it in our garden?” Jemma suggests.

“Fine,” Peggy concedes, running across the lawn again. “Come on, Daniel!” Daniel runs after her.

Jemma props her elbows on the step behind her and leans back on her arms, letting her legs sprawl in front of her. Fitz turns and watches her as she looks across the lawn at Peggy and Daniel. He feels a wave of affection roll through his heart as he looks at Jemma, with her curious eyes and wide smile, and he remembers when he and Jemma were Peggy’s age and he realized that he liked her face more than any other face in the world.

Fitz darts forward, quick as a hummingbird, and presses a kiss to Jemma’s cheek.

Jemma turns to look at him, pleasantly surprised. “What was that for?”

Fitz smiles at her. “You’re my best friend in the world.”

Jemma smiles and presses a tender kiss to his lips. “You’re my best friend, too.”


End file.
